Black Sails of Sol
by Syroc
Summary: The First Contact War was lost, and in its wake humanity was devastated. But they were not wholly defeated, and those still free to do so will fight back however they can.


**Black Sails of Sol**

_The year 2154, by turian reckoning, is but a brief footnote in the long lexicon that is history._

_To humanity, it was the year that the candle that was human civilization was finally snuffed out. An enemy from beyond its borders, numberless as the sands in the desert, swept through their feeble defences in a storm of violence that had not been seen for centuries. Families would listen with mounting terror as news stations told planet after planet going silent, stilled by an implacable alien menace._

_A valiant effort was made by the fledgling supranational interstellar navy, the Systems Alliance, but was woefully outclassed by the battle hardened war machine that was the Hierarchy. They acquitted themselves well in the final battle, but the skies of Earth still rained with fire as wreckage came screaming down all the same. A steep learning curve was no match for superior numbers and equipment._

_Only those captains who fled the battle, whether they were civilian or military, would remain free to tell the tale of Earth's demise. _

_In the aftermath of the war it was discovered that the soldiers of the turian expeditionary fleet had carried with them a rare pathogen of asari origin that was harmless to turian biology. The human immune system, however, was highly susceptible to the disease. It propagated unhindered and millions died before their conquerors realized the magnitude of the contagion and begin an attempt to save the remaining population._

_Within a handful of years the population of humanity had been halved. By the end of the decade what was left of humanity was classified as a threatened species and either lived in colonies carefully supervised by Council representatives or in baleful exile. The planets that had once been home to the species were left barren, mass graveyards to be picked over by scavengers or scholars._

_The turians called it the "Relay 314 incident" and though a handful of military personnel received criticism for the results there was no public outcry. It disappeared in the churn of news, another tragic story whose end was never heard._

_Those humans still free to do so called it the "First Contact War". _

_And to them, it had never ended._

* * *

The huge mining station had many names. The asari name for it meant "the heart of evil". The salarians called it "the place of secrets". The turians called it "the world without law". Krogan called it "the land of opportunity". Vorcha, quarians and volus no doubt had names of their own for the cesspit of scum and villainy, but few had ever thought to ask for it.

Humans called it "Tortuga", though its meaning was lost on anyone not a human themselves. And because humans firmly believed in only sharing bullets (even then, only in great amounts and at great speed) it stayed that way.

Regardless of its name, the station was the beating, poisonous heart of the Terminus Systems. From it flowed more prohibited substances than there were laws for, slaves of every stripe and creed, enough armaments to outfit any three planetary militias and even more mercenaries to carry them. Its filthy streets were packed with any number of spies and agents from every government in known space, criminals of every stripe and any number of poor souls who'd simply had the bad luck to get stuck on the station.

Before the Relay 314 Incident, it had merely been a place where the disreputable happened. Afterwards, it had been elevated substantially beyond its humble origins as it became the popular destination for human freebooters to offload their ill-gotten goods in exchange for much-needed supplies. The station thrived on the influx of their plunder and so the uncontested ruler of the station, Aria T'loak, had welcomed them into the fold with open arms. Things had only progressed further down that line ever since and now pirates of every stripe were a common sight.

It was not a good place to be even under the best of circumstances.

Word was getting around that circumstances were about to become as far from ideal as possible very soon and the streets were accordingly bare of anyone who didn't need to be there.

But inside Afterlife the wild thrum and beat of thundering music was enough to drown out even the deepest seated of worries in a deafening rush. The club was packed almost to capacity, its tables all occupied and its dance floors writhing with the frantic gyrations. Everyone, it seemed, was eager to forget their worries for the night.

Everyone, that is, except for two bartenders who were almost shouting to be heard over the music.

"I'm telling you, Lilli, you need to go _now_," Forvan said nervously. "Things are going to get very bad any minute!"

"Are you kidding?" the turian woman said, polishing a glass. "I'm getting triple pay for this! How often does that happen, huh?"

"I know!" Forvan almost shouted. "And there's a damned good reason for it, too! Just- just go to the lower, bar, yeah? They might not find you th-"

Whatever he was about to say was never finished, because a moment later the front doors to Afterlife slid open with a mechanic whir and clank of metal. From behind them emerged the motley assembly that was the crew of the Normandy, one of the most feared vessels in known space.

Its captain, a tall woman with a mane of fiery red hair and an easy smile, stood at their front. She wore the heavily scarred red-on-black armour of her people's armed forces beneath a heavy olive-green greatcoat that was fraying at the edges, though the outmoded N7 designation on her breast had been painted over by a grinning skull and crossbones. Anyone close enough would have noted bright green eyes and slight freckling on her cheeks and a noticeable _lack_ scarring of any kind. Strangely, there was also a long sabre at her hip. Why anyone would choose to wear such an archaic weapon was a mystery.

At her back was her crew, composed mainly of other humans but here and there were grizzled and battle-scarred krogan, surly batarians, giggling asari, hissing vorcha and even a single quarian lurking on the outskirts of the group. There seemed there was no real discrimination for who could or could not be join the crew.

There wasn't a single piece of armor between them that wasn't marred in some way, whether by long scrapes or hasty welds or even bullet holes that hadn't been repaired yet and this was the only uniformity that any of them held to each other. After so long of dealing with Eclipse and Blood Pack it was strange to see a group that didn't seem to bear any mark of unity or solidarity.

It didn't seem physically possible in a place that boomed out music that could be heard from outside the premises, but somehow the building went silent as she made her entrance. The room visibly tensed and slowed for just a moment. Anyone foolish enough to venture out to the club that night found themselves either retreating to their tables or, in more than a few cases, making hasty apologies as they made a beeline the lower levels of Afterlife.

The human captain scanned the room with a practiced eye and her face visibly brightened when her gaze fell upon the bar. With a smile that was normally worn by sharks, she entered Afterlife and her crew following soon after. She approached the bar with the look of someone who had found water in the desert.

"Pillars," Forvan oathed and gave his coworker a quick look before scurrying away with a shake of his head.

Lilli was about to call after him to stay and help her serve the newcomers, but strangely only the captain took a stool. The rest stood apart, waiting quietly for her return.

The woman flashed a bright smile, which served only to put the bartender on edge.

"Hello," the human said warmly with a peculiar accent. It took her a moment to realize that it sounded that way because she'd never encountered the language before. "I've not seen you here before. You new?"

Lilli blinked, surprised at the pirate's friendly greeting. She hadn't actually met a human before, but from all that she had heard… well, suffice to say that friendly words were not what she was expecting.

Then again, she _was_ a pirate and this was a Terminus port. If there was anywhere a human could relax and maybe make a friend to spend a few pleasant hours with, surely it was here.

"Uh, no," she said with a slight stammer. "I usually work in the lower levels, though."

"Do you?" she said and her smile widened. "I'd head down there more often if I thought someone like you was there."

"Oh," the compliment left her a little flustered. She was used to getting hit on by her patrons, of course, but usually it was just a drunken asari or turian. And they generally didn't come on as strongly as the human was. There was generally too much slurring and wobbling for it. "Thank you, ma'am."

"Please, call me Shepard," the pirate implored. "Tell me, do you have any rum? And a weak beer to mix it with?"

"Ah! Yes, of course. Just a moment," Lilli said and bent to retrieve the drinks in question from the bar. "Do you have any preferences?"

"Oh, maybe some Morgan's and a Lancashire small beer," Shepard said wistfully. "If you have it, of course."

Lilli's facial carapace shifted subtly in confusion at the names.

"I'm sorry, I don't think we have those," she informed the human with some trepidation.

"I wasn't expecting you to. But you never know," the pirate said with a quiet sigh. "We've run out of the stuff ourselves. No matter. A sweet dark rum, then. And whatever beer you choose is fine. And something sour for taste, maybe?"

"Of course!" the turian chirped and picked out a pair of bottles. "Do you like salar fruits?"

"Never heard of 'em," Shepard reported with a chuckle. "But let's be brave, yeah? For science!"

Lilli allowed herself to smile a bit at that.

The two women spent the next few minutes reinventing a drink that Shepard called "grog". It seemed a bit too sweet for Lilli's tastes, but Shepard seemed to enjoy it a great deal. Apparently it was a traditional human drink of some kind and had been enjoyed by seamen for hundreds of years. Lilli was half-tempted to make a note of recipe in her omnitool, but decided to do so later. The human was lavishing attention on her and while she was charming enough at the moment she didn't maintain any illusions that that could change at a rapid clip if she thought she was being ignored.

Shepard took one last pull from her glass, smacking her lips appreciatively as she swallowed the sweet drink.

"Ahh, that hit the spot," she sighed and leaned heavily on the bar. Her bright green eyes stared at Lilli. "Would you mind if I asked your name?"

The turian woman was beginning to get a little unnerved the intensity of the woman's attentions. And with her crew behind her, there was a certain menace to it.

"Uhm, it's Lilli," she mumbled.

"Lilli?" Shepard repeated, almost purring. "That's a nice name. Lilli. Yes. Very pretty. Lilli, what is the strongest proof drink you have back there? And more importantly, would you please pour me a glass of it?"

If physically possible for her to do so, Lilli would have blushed.

Who knew humans could be so flirty?

"O, of course," she stammered, trying to ignore the way the human giggled at her discomfort.

A second glass was poured and Shepard took a speculative sniff of its contents. Her eyes went wide as the vapors hit her sinuses.

"Damn," she said with a small cough, pulling back and blinking owlishly. "This stuff could strip the paint off a bulkhead. You sure it's safe to drink?"

"Ryncol? Sure. For a krogan," Lilli said and gave the captain a turian grin. "Mostly."

Shepard blinked again and laughed. Without warning she put the glass to her lips and threw it back. Her eyes were clenched tight as she tilted her head back and a pained sound emerged from her throat. She slammed her cup back down forcefully against the bar as she swallowed. Amazingly, it was empty.

"Kyaugh!" Shepard gasped, fanning her mouth. "Holy fuck! It tastes like burning!"

"Really?" Lilli chuckled. "I hadn't noticed. Want another?"

"Hells yes!" the pirate was wearing a huge grin and offered her glass eagerly.

Lilli laughed at Shepard's enthusiasm and despite her minor reservations she poured out another glass for her. Anyone who could kill a glass of ryncol that quickly and stay upright probably wouldn't be for much longer.

Shepard, for her part, watched her intently.

"Pretty Lilli," Shepard said warmly. "May I hold your hand?"

She extended her own hand in supplication.

Lilli hesitated for a moment, but found that she wasn't entirely averse to the idea. Shepard had proven amiable enough. And there was something… strangely alluring about the alien. So like an asari, but so very exotic. Shepard was _especially_ so, from her red made down to her pale skin. And, of course, _pirate_.

A girl heard _rumours _about what kind of carousing went on when they finally made port.

She cast a wary look to the pirate crew behind Shepard. They hadn't moved an inch during the whole affair, though many of them wore disgusted expressions.

Shepard, however, was smiling encouragingly at her. She found herself trusting it, despite her reservations.

Instead of answering, Lilli placed a tentative hand in the human's. Shepard's fingers closed slowly around Lilli's hand and she couldn't but note the coarseness of her skin. The human thumb caressed the back of Lilli's hand in a surprising display of intimacy.

"So soft," the human said softly. "I'm always surprised. You'd think it hard, cold. But it's soft."

Shepard's grip tightened abruptly, her fingers clenching so tightly that Lilli cried out in pain. Her free hand flashed to her side and came back up with a long, serrated knife. Lilli didn't feel any pain at first as the blade was plunged into her arm, just above the wrist, with such great force that the blade bit deep into the bar. But all too soon pain lanced up her arm and she screamed. Instinct took over and she tried to recoil, but this served only to further agitate the injury.

The human's eyes narrowed fiercely as she bared her teeth in a feral grin.

"So easy to cut through," she purred.

She released Lilli's hand and her grip on the knife, leaning back with a grin to survey her handiwork.

Now the crew of the Normandy approached, many of them wearing hungry grins. Lilli's eyes went wide with fear as she was effectively surrounded by the whole murderous lot of them.

"I have _really_ got to thank Aria for this. I haven't had this much fun since those refugees from Taetrus!" Shepard said with a cruel laugh and scrunched up her face in a show of mock-fear. "'Why are you doing this? Haven't we suffered enough? No, _please _don't sell my children into slavery!'" she cried mockingly.

There was a series of dark sniggers at her antics. Those closest to her even clapped her appreciatively on the back.

If Lilli listened to the pirate's taunts she didn't show it. She was instead trying to muster up the strength and courage to yank the knife out of her hand, though the many unfriendly eyes watching her did nothing to help in the latter respect.

"Did you see the way she just gave me her hand, easy as you please?" Shepard cackled. "I almost lost it right there! Thought for sure she'd pussy out for a second!"

The insult seemed to galvanize her. With a noise of terror she brought her hand up to the knife handle and had just enough time to give it a quick tug upwards before Shepard reacted.

"_Keep your filthy talons off my knife, bird!"_ Shepard snarled and backhanded her across the face with a gauntleted fist.

Lilli reeled from the blow, her skull exploding in pain. She lost her feet for a moment and went stumbling to the ground. They knife bit into her wrist agonizingly.

"Pathetic," Shepard said with a disgusted tone. "Dumb bitch can't even take a good hit. Hey! Lilli! Stand up!"

The turian mewled in terror, giving her arm a half-hearted tug before giving up.

"I said get on your feet right now, freak!" the human captain roared. "Do it now, or I swear I'll make you wish I'd killed you!"

With a yelp of terror Lilli obeyed, trying for all her worth not to move her maimed hand. She shuddered visibly at the sight of her own blood, her eyes locked onto her inexplicably twitching fingers. They clawed uselessly at the smooth plastic bar bench and it took a conscious effort for her to stop them from moving.

Shepard noticed this and grinned. She reached over to the knife and gave it a quick twist that sent a fresh wave of pain running up her arm.

"I love that sound," Shepard confided. "Your voices are so _interesting_, you know? It sounds like there a three of you, all going at it at once. I could listen to it all. Day. Long."

The human withdrew hand hand from the knife save for one finger, which she rested on the pommel. She played with it, running her fingertip in a small circle as she watched the turian squirm.

"Lilli, can you look at me for a moment?" she said sweetly. She tweaked the handle a bit with her finger meaningfully. "Please?"

The bartender nervously did as she was bade and cried out in surprise when she got a faceful of ryncol for her troubles. The alcohol burned her skin as it slipped beneath the creases in her carapace and in her eyes.

"Can you do me another favor, Lilli?" Shepard said as she raised her free hand. A heavily scarred human at her side flashed a vicious leer as he pressed a small silver rectangular box into it. Her fingers curled around it and with a dextrous flick it was opened at the middle and a merry yellow tongue of flame danced to life. "Scream for me."

Lilli watched with wide-eyed horror as the lighter was flicked her way. She obeyed Shepard's request without any volition of her own.

Shepard, for her part, watched the turian's suffering with a steadily widening smile. She yanked her knife free, the serrated blade tearing loose strands of flesh as it went. Lilli collapsed to the ground instantly, her hands going to her face as she tried to extinguish the blaze.

"Thanks," Shepard told the writhing woman and turned away to address her crew.

The motley array bore varying degrees of amusement at the turian's fate, though not all of it good. There was always a few bleeding hearts to be found, even in her crew. Some, like the batarians and their lone quarian member, were never entirely sympathetic to the cause in the first place, joining up out of circumstance or for money.

And they were good people despite that. Shepard didn't begrudge them their opinion, just as she expected them not to criticize hers.

She rose from her chair, making a show of stretching languidly with a low groan as she did.

"Alright, enough fun for me!" she shouted above Lilli's agonized wailing. "You lot are on shoreleave until I find out what the queen bitch wants! Booze, whores and guns for everyone! Get to it!"

A loud cheer went up at the proclamation and without any further urging they dispersed. Shepard wasn't worried. It was likely that more than a few of them would take the chance to jump ship with their pay, probably the aliens, but there would be others to take their place. There was always some displaced human who was tired of trying to make their way in a galaxy that didn't want them and Shepard was more than happy to show them a different way. A _better_ way, even if it wasn't likely to get them long life and happiness.

She left them and approached Aria's private booth. The guards posted at the stairs, who'd watched her torture of the bartender parted for her without prompting. But there were more at the entrance to the room and these would _not_ be so easily intimidated.

It was customary for those approaching the matriarch to be frisked for weapons. It wasn't so much for safety reasons, as the asari had enough biotic strength in her lithe form to turn even the bulkiest of krogans into so much hamburger meat. No, it was instead intended as a display of dominance, to remind those approaching her just who was in charge.

Shepard's response to the display was to grab the batarian by the throat and push him bodily aside.

"I don't have time for this," she growled harshly. "And you couldn't find all my weapons even if I did."

In Aria's private booth six individuals sat around a low table onto which all manner of datapads and documents had been piled high. Each of them was nursing a drink of some kind, alcohol helping to smooth over the trouble that came with gathering pirate captains into such close quarters.

There were starcharts, dossiers, news reports and all manner of orbital images on the table and they all pointed to one thing: someone was planning something _big_.

There was "Admiral" Hackett, wearing a weary scowl. The old warhorse was a veteran of the First Contact War, one of the few commanders who'd had the good sense to know when to cut his losses. Shepard and most of her crew owed their lives to the man's decision. Thanks to him a dreadnought and a companion carrier with a detachment of light cruisers had escaped the final battle over Earth, escorting a small fleet lumbering transport vessels and merchant ships that had been hastily retrofitted to carry as much crew as possible. The running battle to escape the Local Cluster was the stuff of legend and Hackett was its hero. The "Savior of Sol", they called him.

Time had not been kind to him. The admiral hadn't handled the transition from a naval officer to pirate well, but with the Hierarchy keeping watch over what had once been humanty's planets he'd been faced with the impossible decision of using force to take what he needed from the defenceless or let those who'd trusted him with their lives die. He'd made his decision, but had never been at peace with it. Theirs was not the clean, honourable breed of warfare he had been trained for.

The last time Shepard had seen him had been before her capture of the Normandy from the Hierarchy and that had been close to four years ago. His hair had gone silver during that time and there was a sickly pallor to his skin and dark circles under his eyes that spoke of many days without sleep.

She wasn't surprised to see him there: not only was he the captain of the largest pirate vessel in space, the old carrier _Fires of Sol_, but also commanded the unwavering support of what was tentatively called the Corsair Republic. (The human fleet was far too small for anything like the quarian admiralty board to work, never mind that trying to get a fleet of pirates to accept anything but the loosest of all possible governments was like trying to herd cats. Disgruntled, heavily armed cats.) He had but to say the word and hundreds of buccaneer vessels would mobilize.

She gave him a quick salute without thinking, then looked to the other members of their little get-together.

Next to him sat Balak, a batarian privateer. While not recognized for his efforts, Shepard had it on good authority that the term was an accurate one in his case. Batarians had to get their slaves somewhere and nobody was exactly selling them. The privateer was outfitted with some of the latest armaments his government could reasonably "misplace" without incident and a trained military staff to use them. He'd been raiding across the Citadel frontiers for years, his forces only getting more powerful as success followed success.

Shepard gave him a small nod of respect that was returned: they'd had dealings in the past and they each recognized a certain kinship in the other. It didn't hurt that neither of them balked at what the other did in the name of their people. So what if Balak put whole colonies in chains and then starved them until finding a market to sell them at? So long as they weren't human, Shepard wished him well. She would even lend a hand, providing it was the right target.

His lieutenant, Charn, was sifting through scrolling blacks of information issuing from his omnitool, his mouth moving slowly as he processed what he was seeing. Shepard hadn't had a lot to do with him, but he had always struck her as a bit weak-kneed. She'd watched him go green after seeing the way her crew treated captured enemies.

Aria lounged back, seemingly unaffected by the pirates around her. Which she probably wasn't. She wasn't called the bitch queen or Tortuga without good reason. The asari had her hands in everything that happened in the pirate port, from petty thefts to the pirate raids for which her station was becoming notorious for. This would not be an exception.

And then there was Elanos Haliat.

Shepard's mouth contorted into a sneer at the sight of him, unable to contain her disgust for the turian pirate.

If Admiral Hackett commanded the loyalty of the human corsairs and Balak that of the Batarian slavers, it was safe to say that Elanos Haliat had the grudging respect of every other pirate captain in the terminus systems. In a culture that had become dominated by human marauders or batarian slavers, most that fell outside those two groups found any alternative preferable. Even a dirty weasel like Elanos.

One would think that their common profession would give the two a common ground, but hate was not a rational creature. It cared nothing for fine distinctions, less for trivialities such as circumstance or self-preservation.

Shepard had a shotgun drawn and pointed in the turian's direction with one hand and a pistol pointed to Aria in the other before any of the guards around behind her could move to stop her. She didn't react in the slightest as four assault rifles were brought to bear upon her, their owners wearing concerned expressions.

"You have a lot of nerve to ask this scum to be here, Aria," she growled. "You trying to start a fight with me? With my crew?"

If Aria was worried about Shepard's threat, she was hiding it well. She shot Shepard an arch look, clearly unimpressed.

"Put the gun away, Shepard," she said in a bored tone. "I would hate to have to crush your skull like an egg."

Shepard grinned madly.

"With Hackett here to watch?" she asked rhetorically. "You want him to see you take out his best raider captain to protect the likes of _Elanos?"_

Hackett's eyes snapped up. If the scowl was anything to go by, he did not appreciate having his name dropped in such a fashion. The weary old man was banished and in his place was the Savior of Sol instead, all steel and sharp edges.

"Shepard, shut your goddamn mouth," the admiral growled. "Pretend he isn't here if you have to and _sit your ass down_."

Shepard shot him a hurt look.

"Sir?"

"I just gave you an order, _captain_," he told her, stressing the word.

Shepard looked like she had just been slapped, but did as she was told. She glowered balefully over at Elanos as she did, but kept her peace. She sat down next to Hackett.

But she didn't put her guns away.

Elanos Haliat chuckled quietly.

"That's a nasty varren you got there, admiral," he commented airily. "You might want to consider putting a muzzle on her."

Shepard bristled at the insult, but Hackett held up a hand to silence her.

"I'd watch myself if I were you, vulture. You still have more eyes than I normally like," he warned fiercely. Balak and Charn winced visibly at the implied threat. "Keep talking like that about one of my captains and I'll forget my duty."

Elanos, however, just laughed.

"Duty," he said with amusement. "One wonders where yours lies these days, admiral. Certainly not to your own people, or you'd have surrendered by now."

Hackett didn't respond, but there was a slight sag in his posture. He leaned back into his seat, shooting a dirty look to his side at Shepard.

"Really, Shepard?" he grumbled. "A fucking _sabre?_ I didn't say anything about the coat, but this is pushing it."

"We're _pirates_, sir. We should look the part," Shepard said in a hurt tone. "And it keeps morale up."

Hackett grunted, annoyed by this fact.

"If you ever start wearing a tricorne, I'll have you shot," he warned her. "I won't have you making a mockery of that armour."

From the look Shepard was wearing she was wearing he could tell she was weighing the merits of being executed for making a fashion statement. He let out a long-suffering sigh.

"Just don't wear it in front of me," he grumbled

"Wouldn't dream of it, sir," Shepard chirped happily.

Balak cleared his throat, drawing the attention of the other pirate captains.

"If the theatrics are done, maybe we can get on with this meeting?" Balak asked. "Some of us have work to do."

"Of course, captain," Elanos agreed smoothly. "I didn't call you all here just for the fun of it."

"_You_ called this meeting?" Hackett said incredulously. He rose to his feet. "I should have known this was going to be a waste of time."

"Hold there, admiral," Elanos cautioned, holding up a hand to stay the admiral. "Rest assured, I don't expect you to hear me out from of the goodness of your hearts," the turian leaned forward and rifled through the datapads on the table before them and upon finding what he was looking he held up a dossier on a planet for everyone to inspect. Its surface was a beautiful motley of greens, blue and white. "This, my human friends, is Elysium. Have you heard of it?"

"No," Shepard growled.

"Yes," Hackett said and leaned forward. There was a hard look about him as he reached forward to snatch the dossier out of the turian's claws. His eyes flitted across the information displayed, going wide. He slowly sat back down. "Is your source credible?"

"They're writing _extranet_ _articles_ about it, admiral," Elanos said with amusement. "It isn't a secret."

"Sir?" Shepard asked uncertainly. "What's going on? What's Elysium"

Hackett cast one final look at the datapad before putting it back on the table.

"The council has built a colony for the humans in their care to settle," he said. "The Hierarchy has apparently offered to support them as a client race in exchange. They're going to try to integrate us."

"Mother of god," Shepard oathed with a look of horror. "That- they can't do that! They _can't!"_

It was uncertain just who "they" were. Given the history of their race, it could have referred to any number of parties.

"Sir, we have to put a stop to this," Shepard insisted sharply. "We have to do something!"

"We will," Hackett assured her firmly. He looked to Elanos. "You have our attention. What do you intend?"

The turian gave the turian equivalent of a grin as he gestured to table before them and the wealth of information therein.

"I intend to lead the greatest raid in recorded history," he said grandiosely. "Between our three factions we have enough firepower to overwhelm any three border patrols and the planets they guard. And if Aria can martial the mercenary factions to support us, the Council will have to convene to amass a force large enough to match us."

"We'll have free rein," Balak said, nodding his approval. "There won't be anyone to stop us from rolling across any frontier world we want."

"And if we don't waste time, we'll can hit at least five planets before they can mobilize anything that could contend with us."

"And Elysium?" Hackett asked pointedly. "Where will that enter into your plans?"

"You'll understand if I hold off on attacking Elysium until I can be sure you're suitably invested in the venture, admiral," Elanos said smugly. "I wouldn't want you to get any ideas about leaving us high and dry when you got what you wanted."

"It still sounds like a rich haul to me," Balak commented with eagerness. "There's quite a demand for human slaves. So difficult to acquire."

Hackett snapped around to glower at the batarian.

"You put a single one of those colonists in chains and I'll-" he started to say, but was interrupted by Shepard.

"You hand over every human you find to us and we'll reimburse you threefold for your troubles," she offered.

"The market price is five times, Shepard," Balak pointed out, unimpressed with her offer. "Your people are worth their weight in diamonds."

"Yeah," she agreed. "And that worth comes with the added bonus of an ass-fucking with a sword from me personally. How much do you think one of those goes for on the market, you think?"

Far from taking offense, Balak laughed at the vulgar threat.

"Only for you, Shepard," he chuckled, shaking his head. "Fine. But there's an op I'm planning that I want your support for."

"If we're both still alive for it, I'm game," Shepard said with a grin. "Always happy to help a friend."

"So we're all in agreement, then?" Elanos asked,

Charn passed Balak a datapad, muttering something too low to hear. The batarian captain gave a quick nod, then looked pointedly to Elanos.

"We're in," he said simply.

Shepard looked to Hackett, who had closed his eyes. The elder human looked as if every one of his years had come back to haunt him, but when he opened his eyes again there was a familiar fire burning in them.

"Though it pains me to say it, your plan is a good one," the admitted. "Though I would advise you to put the word out to your captains to avoid my forces. They aren't going to be happy until Elysium is a smoking ruin."

"Of course, admiral," Elanos agreed, sounding for all the world like a cat with a mouse. "Well then, my friends. Let's drink to unity!"

* * *

**AN:** Hello people. Just a quick one-shot before I finish off another chapter for the Fallout/Mass Effect crosses I'm doing. The idea came to me while on the bus and I just could not make myself stop grinning. If anyone wants to take up my sword and continue the adventures of pirate!humanity and Shepard simultaneously killing and screwing her way through the galaxy, I implore you to do so.

Because _space pirates_.

Space.

Pirates.

You know it needs to happen.

Minor alterations from canon, in that Elanos Haliat is a turian here. But y'know what? He was _supposed_ to be a turian. I mean, look at that name. _So_ turian.

This was written mostly because I've read like fifteen different versions of the First Contact scenario, but I think I've only seen one where humanity _didn't _come up on top, or at least not too badly affected. This struck me as odd. And I do so love a losing battle. (That and I'd been reading some saccharine-sweet ship-fics. I always feel the need to set something/one on fire after too much sugar. *_shrug*_)

That said, you probably know what you should be doing right now. That's right: invading Sweden. **But since you aren't doing that, you should totally review instead. **Oh, and submit to Syroc.

SUBMIT!


End file.
